


Artist: [Redacted]

by vampgirltish



Category: VIXX
Genre: Art, Art Museums, Falling In Love, First Meetings, M/M, Statues, Strangers to Lovers, artist!taekwoon, wonsik is just a giant dork in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 05:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampgirltish/pseuds/vampgirltish
Summary: Wonsik visits the same exhibit in the same art museum, admiring the art of an artist that he doesn't even know the name of. Little does he know the artist admires him too.





	Artist: [Redacted]

Wonsik had visited this art museum every day for five weeks. The same exact time. 2:45 pm, every afternoon. He made his way to the same statues he visits. Every single time. A cold, marble statue with an empty face. A vacant expression, but the man sculpted is tall, thin. He’s not fit, but he’s not unhealthy. Soft folds of pants curl around his hips, hanging loosely. Hair curtains spread about either side of his face--Wonsik always liked to picture this hair dark as raven, but others argued it was golden blonde. The eyes were the most interesting part, narrowed as if in contemplation or in judgement, but curiously holding something that seemed to ask Wonsik just  _ why _ he was looking at this statue of all others.

He reads the name and description of this statue for the thirty-fifth time.

_ Remember, 2015. _

_ Artist: [Redacted] _

_ “Self-portrait in marble. Done on warm, spring day, sun shining. Eighty two degrees Fahrenheit. Rain previous night. Mood: Jubilant.” _

The artist’s name was always scribbled. Always removed. It was curious, and he didn’t know if it was intentional or not. And then came Wonsik’s favorite part of the descriptions on this artist’s statues.

_ “Remember, do you remember afterwards? The clear morning after the rain. We were in love, but we let each other go.” _

Wonsik admires the piece from all sides, before stepping away to another. This piece was by far his favorite. It was a couple, sitting face to face at a table. The male reaches towards the female, who has her face turned away, refusing his touch. An envelope, a flower, and some keys lay on the table. The man looks the same as the self portrait had...

_ Beautiful Liar, 2014. _

_ Artist: [Redacted] _

_ “Marble. Last night’s pain. Rain. Sixty four degrees Fahrenheit. Storm clouds previous night. Mood: Misgiving. _

_ It’s alright if you leave me, I want you to be happy. Oh, I’m a beautiful liar. I feel so relieved now, please don’t worry about me. Oh, I’m a beautiful... no, a cowardly liar.” _

Wonsik can feel the pain from the piece. He moves on to see more of the artist’s art. He reads the descriptions, he reads everything. He loses track of time, of himself, loses track getting caught up in the moment. 

_ Words to Say, 2014. _

_ Artist: [Redacted] _

_ “Marble. Things left unspoken lead me to create in an attempt to let go. Still, this is nothing compared to verbalization. Cloudy. Seventy one degrees Fahrenheit. Clear previous night. Mood: Incapable. _

_ You were more beautiful than anyone else. It hurts that I can’t even hold you in my arms. I’ll be okay, I’ll grow indifferent. It’ll just pass. It’s alright, because I love you more. I knew from the beginning that it wasn’t me.” _

The exhibition was small, shared with another local artist. But it was by far Wonsik’s favorite. He was curious what had gone through the artist’s head, who it was. Who  _ he _ was. He wanted to know this person, to meet them, appreciate them, value them. They seemed as though they needed it...

As he leaves the art museum for the fifty sixth time, a woman hands him a brochure. On the front, he reads that there is an event for the artist whose work is in the Sverdrup Gallery Hall. That could either be  _ his _ artist, or the other. He reads the date and time. Tomorrow, 6:00 pm, formal dress. Meet the artist, new art piece being revealed. Artist’s first work in several months.

He has to go. He knows this. Wonsik makes a mental note to come, and leaves with spring in his step.

~*~*~

The night of the event, he is dressed nicely, hair pushed back out of his eyes, glasses pushed up his nose as he makes his way to the art museum. The lights are bright, and people file in. He had never realized how popular the artist was. They move in, gathering in the back of the room near a large sculpture, hidden by a burgundy curtain. The name on the plaque surely could not be scratched out yet. There would be no way. Unless it was stylistic...

He can’t get close enough to read yet, so he takes his time and looks at everything else first. A staff member informs them the artist is on the way, but running late. They decide to show the piece without the artist in house, to save time. The artist would speak about it later if he chose. Since all had read the plaque already, Wonsik can get closer as they pull the curtain down. What Wonsik didn’t expect was to find a full scale portrait of himself.

Wonsik’s features were exactly as his own, and he stood there, his marble self, finger touched gently to his lips, admiring something. His other hand, cocked on his hip, weight shifted to one side. A long, thick wool coat, a sweater... People looked at this sculpture, then at Wonsik. They make this connection, and begin to ask if he knows the artist. Wonsik assures them he does not, he’s just as confused as they are. He looks down at the plaque, reading quickly.

_ “Ghost, 2015. _

_ Artist: Jung Taekwoon _

_ Marble. Capturing an admirer. Handsome, too. Curious expressions. Someday I will find the strength to speak to him. Skies clearing. Sixty eight degrees Fahrenheit. Cloudy last night. Mood: Expecting. _

_ It’s finally time for my name to see the light of the world. Look at me closely, welcome to my paradise.” _

_ Jung Taekwoon. Jung Taekwoon. Jung Taekwoon.  _ That was his name. He tries to remember this more closely than his own name, melding them close together into one fine mesh.  _ Jung Taekwoon Kim Wonsik Jung Taekwoon Kim Wonsik Jung Taekwoon Kim Wonsik _ until it becomes a mantra of  _ Wontaek Wontaek Wontaek Wontaek.  _ Would he see Taekwoon here?

He hears a quiet voice, so quiet he almost didn’t catch it, “Um, excuse me, you’re blocking the art.”

“Oh! Sorry,” Wonsik apologizes, stepping back and turning towards the owner of the voice.

_ Taekwoon. _

It’s him.

Wonsik’s breath catches.

Taekwoon seems to make the connection between Wonsik and  _ Ghost _ .

“Ah, you’re the ghost,” is all the artist says.

“Y-Yes,” is all Wonsik can seem to say.

“It’s a pleasure to finally know the one who has visited my art every day for fifty six days in a row.”

“Fifty seven,” Wonsik corrects. Today was fifty seven.

“Fifty seven,” Taekwoon corrects. “What’s my ghost’s name?”

_ His ghost _ . “Wonsik. Or... or Ravi.”

“Wonsik or Ravi. I’m Taekwoon or Leo.”

Taekwoon. Leo.

Now he knows the name to the artist, the name to the self portrait, the name to the one who created the beautiful representation of  _ himself _ right there in marble for all to admire. He knows Taekwoon, Leo, whatever he calls him. He decides next that he wants to call Taekwoon his.

He blurted this without thinking.

Taekwoon chuckles, a smile pulling at his cheeks and Wonsik swears he blacks out for a moment. “You want to make me yours?”

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“But that didn’t mean you didn’t  _ mean _ what you said.”

“No.”

Taekwoon looks at Wonsik for a long time, those eyes that he’d admired so long in marble now real and now watching him much as his statue self had. Wonsik is afraid the man is going to laugh at him and he’d downright die if that happened. He keeps thinking over and over how he wished the world would suck him up and never let him back out ever again, when Taekwoon chuckles again.

“What?”

“It’s just endearing how eager you are.”

Wonsik is quick to argue. “I’m not eager.”

“But you’re eager to argue, too.”

Taekwoon was always one step ahead. Wonsik doesn’t know what to say without being countered. Taekwoon was a challenge but one he wanted to take on. A challenge that he was determined to win, determined to show his value. Taekwoon will see how valuable of a person he is. Wonsik just has to make that first step, take that first initiative.

Taekwoon’s eyes seem to ask him,  _ What are you waiting for? _ and he thinks to himself,  _ I don’t know _ as his mind starts repeating  _ fuck it fuck it fuck it fuck it _ and he jams his hand out towards Taekwoon. Fingers spread apart. Open palm, upwards towards him. Now he’d made a move. He’d taken initiative. After one unexpected thing that night, finding himself immortalized in marble, he had finally been the owner of his own destiny, his own choices, he’d owned this night--

Until Taekwoon giggled a third time and took Wonsik’s hand in his own. Wonsik looks down at their hands, entwined together, and then back up at Taekwoon.

Taekwoon, still with a smile, only supplies eight words. “It’s nice to see my ghost come to life.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is a gift for my bestest friend in the whole entire wide world, kil. hopefully it turned out okay, and hopefully you like it. i just couldnt get the idea out of my head. if it sucks, im sry, pls dont hate me.


End file.
